


Yes, Chef!

by CapsuleCrisis



Series: KakaVege Week (tumblr) [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Bartender Goku, Chef Vegeta, Frieza is a dick, M/M, Sexual Harassment, kakavege, restaurant life, tumblr: kakavegeweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24739537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapsuleCrisis/pseuds/CapsuleCrisis
Summary: A restaurant AU!  What could possibly go wrong?!---For tumblr KakaVege week prompt "Owning a Restaurant/ Cafe´together"
Relationships: Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Series: KakaVege Week (tumblr) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790779
Comments: 26
Kudos: 58
Collections: Kakavege Week





	Yes, Chef!

Warm evening sun tapered away to quiet dusk. The low sound of up-tempo lounge music filtered through the air, a subtle, comfortable vibe floating from discreet speakers placed in lush planters. Heads turned at the sound as they passed the open patio area of the chic restaurant, the dusky red brick lined with sumptuous, intimate outdoor seating. Curious glances grazed over lounging patrons sipping idly at deep, richly colored wines, sampling from lavish cheeseboards, abundant and indulgent. A world apart, quiet delights.

Icarus’ Roost, nestled in the heart of West City, was an oasis of calm, modern luxury. It was indulgent, but surprisingly approachable in price point, with a keen staff focused on imparting knowledge and exemplary service to their clientele. All was calm on the surface, curated to _perfection._

Inside, rich dark wood seating lined with cream uplostry, the impressions inlayed with deep copper, dappled with the sparkling crystal of highly polished glasses. Warm lighting flitted and flickered as servers floated with ease between their clients, sumptuous smells of savory offerings floating about in their wake.

With an easy smile and a quick laugh, Son Goku rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white button down before grasping the cocktail shaker in one hand. With a flourish, he laid out three empty martini glasses, garnishing them while tossing the shaker boldly into the air, where it spin rapidly before he caught it casually behind his back.

“Goku, you’re always so good with your hands.” The young woman leaned forward, blonde locks cascading over her shoulders as she ran her fingers along the stem of one of the empty glasses in quiet anticipation. “What time are you off tonight? Come have some fun with me, huh?”

“Aha, you know our hours! Closing time’s same as always, Miss Launch.” Goku replied with a disarming smile, deflecting with ease as he popped a strainer over the shaker glass. A beautifully opaque, green liquid poured neatly into each glass, perfectly to the rim, exquisitely punctuated by a rattle of ice as he set the shaker down behind the bartop.

“And yet you never seem to want to play. You’re no fun.”

“Aww, come on now, we have plenty fun here, don’t we? It’s why ya keep coming back.” Goku slid one of the three glasses towards her, laughingly gently. Launch frowned, but took a delicate sip of the drink, nonetheless. 

“You bastard, I’ll get you to come out one of these day. This is perfect, as always.” She sighed, and Goku slid the second glass towards her, knowing that she’d need a top off sooner rather than later. The third glass went to her bald companion, who rolled all three of his eyes at Launch’s antics.

“Hit on him while I’m sitting right here, nice.” Tien groused, and Launch knocked him playfully on the shoulder.

“Ah, can you blame me for trying?” She smirked, downing her first martini will all of the grace and poise of a truly experienced bar-goer. Tien gulped, trying not to gape.

“Hah, you two are too much sometimes!” Goku laughed, turning away from his regulars in order to tend to the ticket that just popped up at service bar; Old fashioned sub rye, a springtime sangria, and one Monkey King.

Keeping the conversation light, Goku fell into the easy rhythm of preparing the necessary drinks, all flare and finesse, his hands moving with practiced deftness. The restaurant wasn’t terribly full, but he could see that some of his fellows were moving with urgency, which gave him pause.

“Hey, Krillin. How’s the floor, bud?”

“Ehh, could be better, Goku. Could always be better.” Krillin loaded up an order of drinks onto his tray, tweaking garnishes _just so_. “Can I get the bottle of bubbles for this ticket?” He tapped the listing of the missing item, irritation apparent.

“Oh yeah, sure. Sorry ‘bout that!” Goku chittered, reaching into the ice well for a freshly chilled bottle and setting up an ice bucket for good measure. He frowned, noting that Krillin seemed a bit distracted. Frantic, even.

“You doing okay?”

“Not really. Frieza just showed up with two others. No reservation.”

“Oh, no shit, huh?” Goku bristled, thinking back to the last that overstuffed, pompous rich-boy dined with them. Bulma wasn’t overly inclined with the idea of “firing" guests, but she was damn near close with Frieza. The last time the trust-fund baby came in, Goku had been off-shift, but he heard that Krillin had left the floor in tears.

“I’m not taking him.” Krillin affirmed, his expression dark.

“No, definitely not. Don’t worry, I’m sure Bulma will figure it out. Can’t believe we let him back in.” Goku mused, pulling the ticket for another drink order. Another Monkey King? He quested around for the ingredients realizing that he was actually out of the garnish he needed. Whoops.

"He’s got _money_ , Goku. Plus he knows Chef.”

“ _Everyone_ says they know Chef.” Goku rolled his eyes, scratching the back of his head.

“But no one knows him like you, huh?” Krilling jested, waggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t you have a table to get to?” Goku coughed, turning bright red.

“Oh shit!” Krillin took the drink tray and scampered off, leaving Goku more than a bit hot under the collar. 

“Hmm. Ah, hey 17, I gotta step out back, you good for the moment?” Goku called out to his coworker.

“Are you ducking out to eat again?” 17 raised a brow, blue eyes piercing through with an accusatory stare. His tone was smooth but oh-so-condescending.

“No no, nothin’ like that! We’re just out of some garnishes.” Goku threw his hands up in defense, shaking his head rapidly. His stomach chose that exact moment to rumble quite loudly. Of course there would probably be time for a quick snack, but he was loathe to admit that to his judgmental coworker.

“Why am I not surprised. Weren’t you supposed to stock up before we opened?” 17 admonished, leaning against the back counter with an ambivalent air. A few of the regular patrons made goading sounds as 17 called Goku out.

“I can’t hear you, I’m already gone!” Goku practically dove under the divide, emerging from behind the bar with a fire in his step, bee-lining for the kitchen. Behind him, he heard 17 call him something very rude, making the guests laugh uproariously at his expense.

Onions, garlic, and savory seared meats, the smells a pleasant assault on his senses as he stepped out back. The quiet calm of the dining room melted away into the controlled, frenetic energy of the kitchen. Knives chopping, oil spitting, fires roaring, ceramic clattering. The change in temperature caused a thin sheen of sweat to appear on Goku’s forehead. As he rounded the corner and saw Chef, he swallowed down hard, mind filtering back to what Krillin had said.

_“But no one knows him like you, huh?”_

Chef Vegeta stood poised and at the ready on outside pass, his dark chef coat doing little to mask his striking physique. How he had the energy to run a restaurant and maintain that sculpted body would always be a marvel to Goku. He wanted to know Vegeta better. He saw glimpses of him, after hours, while he unwound with the kitchen staff for post-shift drinks. Talking with him was easy, in those moments, where there was no pressure of work, no need to shore up defenses. Goku liked to think that maybe, just maybe, if he pushed a little, they could have more of those quiet conversations.

“Oh for fuck's sake, Raditz, how many times do I need to tell you? Coulis on the plate, not over the damn bird. Do it again.” Vegeta pushed the plate back over the line, the delicate appetizer disappearing from sight as Raditz moved to fix his mistake with a resounding _Yes Chef._

Vegeta’s brows were drew together in concentration as he rattled off a short order ticket fresh from the printer.

“Pick up for fifteen. Fire calamari, soup, Brussels. On back, two pork all day, one chicken set, fingerlings.” He called firmly, his voice resonating through the kitchen with sharp clarity.

“Heard!” the echoed replies of his staff, never lifting their eyes from their tasks.

Goku indulged for a moment, admiring Vegeta’s command of the kitchen, the way his staff respected and revered him. He was smart, talented, and really fucking cute, to boot. As if feeling eyes on him, Vegeta’s head snapped towards Goku, his features quickly forming into a heated glare.

Oh yeah, Goku had almost forgotten. Vegeta was super intimidating when on the clock.

“Runner.” A command.

“Sorry Vegeta, I don’t have time to run. Grabbing some carrots and citrus for the bar.” Goku apologized, walking towards him. He needed to walk past Vegeta in order to get to the walk-in, which, in the moment, felt miles away.

“It’s Chef.” Vegeta bit out, his hands tightening into fists at Goku’s familiarity, a deep warning in his tone. “I said runner.”

“I have a guest waiting fo-“

“And I have plates dying in the fucking window. I don’t want to here it. Get over here and run this food. Now.” Vegeta spat with finality, leaving no room for argument. From behind the line, a few of the cooks glanced up at the exchange.

“…Yes, Chef.” Goku acquiesced, sidling up next to Vegeta. Chef handed him three plates, and Goku echoed the order specifics and the table back to him before turning on his heel to deliver the food.

He moved with urgency, bringing the food to the table, making sure to give the guests a quick smile and a breezy laugh before hurrying back towards the kitchen.

Vegeta had just finished handing off another order, and was focused on cleaning up another plate. Perfect. Goku upped his pace, hoping to slip by without a problem. He heard a set of footsteps behind him, glancing back to see another food-runner entering the kitchen.

“Runner.” Vegeta stated without glancing up.

“Chef, I really can’t this time.” Goku breezed past him without a second glance. Luckily, the other food-runner slipped into place, instead. Goku maneuvered deftly behind the line, zipping behind a surly Piccolo and a very irritated Nappa to get to the walk-in.

Once within the large cooler, he quickly loaded up his apron with produce, grimacing at having forgotten a bin. Ah well, sometimes you gotta improvise! Satisfied that he’d grabbed all he needed, he used his hips to open the door, squeezing back through the line with utterances of “Behind!”, receiving heated grunts of displeasure. Someone called out his name, and he pivoted quickly to respond.

A mistake.

His heel slipped on a greasy wet-spot, overbalancing him into the gas-range, his backside upending a cast-iron skillet loaded with brussles sprouts. Goku cried out in alarm, losing grip on the burden he carried as he steadied himself. Limes and lemons and grapefruits and carrots went cascading in all directions.

“H-hey, look out!” Broly warned, whisking away a nearby skillet.

“Oh for fuck's sake!” Nappa called out, shoving Goku out of the way of the now ruined side-dish.

"Nice one, little brother!" Raditz laughed, fully enjoying Goku's little mishap.

“Sorry, I’m sorry guys!” Goku uttered, bending over to try and recovered the scattered produce. He let out a sudden, strangled cry as someone hauled him up by the collar of his shirt, forcibly dragging him away from the line.

“Get the fuck out of the kitchen. NOW.” Vegeta raged, tossing Goku straight on his ass in from of the dish pit. His face was bright red, a pronounced vein throbbing in his forehead, almost comically so. Goku bit back a laugh at the sight, wondering if steam was going to pour out of Vegeta’s ears next.

“Chef, let me clean up! I still need those carrots and-“ Goku started, brushing off his knees as he stood.

“What? Fuck you, get out!” Vegeta yelled, pointing aggressively towards the exit.

“But Chef…”

“Enough!” Vegeta practically bellowed, bending over to quickly gather a few of the fallen items in question before whipping them in rapid succession at Goku. “Here, take it, Carrot Boy! Now. Get. Out.”

Goku yelped and tried to deflect as much of the flying produce as he could, snatching a few from the air, but getting pummeled with the rest. He decided to cut his losses, scrambling from the kitchen with what he had, his cheeks burning with shame and indignation.

He didn’t even get the chance to ask for a snack!

\-----

Service hit its peak, tickets printing into the kitchen, a steady and comfortable rhythm, just busy enough to keep the guys focused and at the ready. The noise and heat of a packed service, impeccable dishes flying out the window, the crew rallying behind a job well done. Exhausting, but satisfying.

Vegeta loved it when it was like this.

“I need runners!” He bellowed, satisfied when he was met with an immediate response.

“Yes, Chef!”

“Table eight. Sirloin medium rare seat one, mussels seat two. Broccoli to share.” He deftly handed off the plates, not even looking at whoever was taking them, already thinking ten steps ahead for the next several tickets. The boys were really on their game tonight, barely a single dish that passed through required correction. Good.

“Heard, Chef. Table eight.” The runner left, and Vegeta stabbed completed ticket onto the spike with grim satisfaction.

“How’s it going in here, Chef V?” A playful voice pulled him from his scrutiny of the ticket rail. Bulma leaned against the service counter, looking professionally poised and drop-dead gorgeous, as always.

“Smooth.” Vegeta affirmed. Bulma raised a brow at the short report, but didn’t comment otherwise.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that. Unfortunately, I’ve got some bad news, Chef. Frieza’s here.” Bulma grimaced, her perfectly painted lips scrunching up as though mentioning the name itself left her tasting something unpleasant.

“What?” Vegeta slapped an open palm on the counter. “What do you mean, he’s here? Right now?”

“Yeah, I don’t really know how you’d misinterpret that.” Bulma rolled her eyes.

“Spare me. His reservation was supposed for sometime next week, no?” Vegeta growled, squaring off. He did not need the added stress of that over-stuffed, pompous asshole right now.

“I guess his plans changed.”

“Well this is a fucking pain.” Vegeta growled, quickly going over a mental checklist in his mind. Frieza was a pain to take care of even when they were _prepared_ for him. An unscheduled visit was an absolute nightmare. “We’re going to have to tell him “no” a few times, I don’t just have that imperial golden caviar he’s so fond of just fucking laying around, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t worry, I have Yamcha icing down a bottle of Dom Perrignon as we speak. That should ease some of the hurt.” Bulma sighed. If it weren’t for the insane amount of money that Frieza dropped every time he dined, she would have told him to fuck off a long time ago.

“Yamcha? Fucking _Yamcha_? Don’t tell me he’s taking lead on the table.” Vegeta stated, aghast. He heard a few chuckles from behind the line.

“It’s a slow Tuesday, Chef, I don’t have much of a choice. He _hated_ Krillin, and 18 is already leading point on the Satan PR event in the private dining room.”

“Why don’t you take care of him? You’re the general manager. He’ll love that.” Vegeta groused, looking back to the service rail.

“I can’t babysit Frieza, I have a whole floor to run.”

“Fine. Fine. Really, fucking _Yamcha?”_ Vegeta mumbles darkly, his eyes raking over the current state of the kitchen. They’re gotten through the push, but there were still a few tickets on the rail. Frieza would no doubt want him to come out and say hi. As annoying and uncomfortable as it was, Vegeta knew he had to play nice with their VIP clientele.

“Chef, if you need to step off the line for a bit, we’ve got this under control.” Piccolo affirmed from behind the line, never looking up from his plating. Raditz hovered next to him, expression morose as he watched the meticulous Sous Chef quietly correct his plating.

“You’re in charge, Piccolo. I won’t be long.” Vegeta sighed and wiped his hands. Might as well get it over with.

“Yes, Chef!”

\-----

“Carrot.”

Goku’s head whipped up at the sound of Vegeta’s voice. He froze, holding the cocktail shaker aloft. Vegeta was staring right at him, arms crossed.

“With me. I’m not going over to that table alone.”

“Carrot? Is that what you’re calling me now?" Goku queried, the initial shock of Vegeta’s sudden presence wearing off.

“After your antics tonight, that’s your name. Now come here.” Vegeta’s tone brokered no argument. Goku would have laughed at the absurdity of it all if Vegeta didn’t seem to damn grim.

“Huh? Chef, we’ve got a pretty full bar here…”

“And I’ve got a kitchen that’s about to burst into flames without me. You took care of Frieza at the bar when he first arrived, no? He won’t feel slighted if I leave while you are opening his wine.”

“I mean I poured him a whiskey before he walked away. I really don’t think…”

“Hey, Bulma. Jump behind service bar for a bit, I’m stealing Carrot.” Vegeta raised up the service partition, motioning for Goku to step out.

“Yeah, sure, let me just do _everything_.” Bulma smacked Vegeta playfully on the shoulder before motioning for Goku to follow the chef’s lead.

“Why do you need me to come?”

“Frieza loves feeling like he’s the center of attention. I can’t spend too long at his table, I have a kitchen to run. You’re gonna wait in the wings for a minute or two before coming by to open his champagne, which will give me an easy out. Got it?”

“Yeah, I mean I guess? Everyone else busy or something?”

“Just consider this to be recompense for being such a fuckup in the kitchen earlier.”

\-----

“Oh what an absolute delight! Vegeta, how sweet of you to come out and say hi. I was just telling my men how much I adore your quaint little establishment.” Freiza simpered, all saccharine sweet. He held out a hand, which Vegeta firmly grasped, despite the cold chill the man sent down his spine.

“You’re too kind, Sir.” Vegeta replied, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. He bristled on the inside, alarm bells clangoring in his head. Frieza was as slimy as they came, a horribly entitled, manipulative little shit with lots of money to toss around. Unfortunatly, he was also a silent investor in the restaurant. Vegeta had seen first-hand the horrors he could rain down upon establishments he disliked, even the ones he was invested in.

“Oh come on now, Vegeta. No need for such formalities between friends, now is there?” Frieza’s eyes flashed, his posture subtly taking on a measure of hostility.

Vegeta knew that look all too well. He needed to play the game, placate the entitled, rich little monster in front of his companions. Vegeta forced a tight smile, and that seemed to do the trick. Gods, but he was going to have an aneurysm if he needed to engage with him too long.

Frieza’s glance flickered past Vegeta, where he noticed Goku approaching with an ice bucket and bottle of champagne.

“Gentleman, on the house this evening.” Vegeta motioned as Goku went about setting the table up for champagne service. “You’ll have to forgive me, I just keep my visit brief.”

“How kind, Chef. By all means, don’t let us _keep you_ , the kitchen won’t run itself, after all.” Frieza waved a dismissive hand, his lips curling into a nasty little smirk.

“I’ll leave Goku to it, then.” Vegeta nodded, unsure if the exchange was positive or not. Frieza was mercurial in his moods, and that was putting it kindly. Best to disengage now and prepare his staff for the impending order.

Goku flashed a smile as Vegeta walked off, transitioning smoothly in. He presented the bottle for Freiza’s approval. Freiza let out a non-committal noise, inspecting the label a bit too long before giving the slightest, near imperceptible nod of approval. Goku deftly opened he bottle, maneuvering the cork out, the air releasing as the softest puff of a delicate sigh, and poured a small taste.

“Hm. Well, this doesn’t smell right at all.” Frieza stated, having barely even lifted the glass. His associates chuckled.

“Oh?” Goku ventured, raising a brow. He wasn’t one to tell a guest how to go about judging their drinks, but…

“No. It’s certainly corked. See you yourself.” Freiza held out the flute in disdain, a dark grin on his face.

Goku grasped the flute, holding his nose to the glass, drawing in the smell. No mold, no wet basement smell indicative of a bad bottle, only brioche and almond and buttery lemon. Nothing out of the ordinary, despite the bottle itself being extraordinarily good. .

“Hmm.” Goku hesitated, warring with his instincts, not wanting to correct a guest who was so clearly wrong, especially with a bottle so expensive. “If it’s alright with you, may I taste this? Some of that initial funk on the nose seems to have tapered off.”

“Oh, by all means.” Freiza drawled, leaning back in his seat with his fingers interlaced

As Goku raised the glass to his lips, he stiffened as the low, dark chuckle that emanated from Frieza.

“There’s nothing quite as entertaining as watching a dog drink champagne, is there, boys? Tell me, Goku, how does it taste?”

“It tastes fine by me, Sir.” Goku bristled, doing his best to let the insult roll off his back.

“Fine? Oh it’s just _fine_ , is it? What a discerning pallet you have! Fine for you, I’m certain of that. Bring us a fresh bottle. It’s certainly not your fault that this one is corked, but do be more careful in the future about questioning my taste.” Frieza admonished, his tone dangerous. His compatriots laughed.

Goku stood there, his mouth agape, perhaps for a moment too long. Not only was this guy demanding a new bottle, which he was getting for free, but he was blatantly mocking him, to boot? And his friends were just _laughing?_ What the hell?

“Well? What are you waiting for? We’re quite thirsty.”

Goku took the offending bottle away, absolutely fuming. He hurried himself to the bar, where Yamcha was quickly grabbing drinks for another table. The scarred man looked at Goku apologetically before breezing past him.

“I guess its your table now, Goku. Sorry.” Bulma remarked, deftly working on the next in a long line of drink tickets. “Yamcha got caught up with another party. I’ll cover for you here. What do you need?”

“Another bottle of Dom.” He muttered, slamming down the perfectly good, open bottle with perhaps a bit too much force. Bulma arched a delicate brow.

“We’ll have to ice it down, I don’t think we have anymore chilled.” She sighed, rubbing her temples. “18 needed several for the Satan party.”

“Damn, damn okay. Frieza’s already pissed. Can you get that going for me? I’ll bring them a few cocktails in the meantime."

Goku returned after a few minutes, cocktail tray in hand, only to be met with cold, judgmental stares as he placed the offerings before the guests.

“You must have misheard me.” Frieza drummed his fingers on the table, staring daggers at the offensively bright concoction that Goku placed in front of him. “What I said was ‘bring us new bottle.’ These seem to be cocktails.”

“Yes, I know. These are on me! Just waiting on the champagne to chill down properly.” Goku tittered, flashing a too-big smile.

To his left, one of Frieza’s companions laughed and downed the whole cocktail, mumbling out something about not wasting booze. Frieza wrinkled his nose and slid his cocktail over to the bulbous man without even so much as trying his own.

Goku tried not to take it personally. He leaned over to remove the now empty glass from Frieza’s guest.

A firm hand came to rest on his backside, sliding under the waistband of his pants to grip his ass.

“My, my, you are quite cute, but very, very stupid. I’m rather disappointed.” Frieza commented, emphasizing his point by giving Goku’s ass a few firm, thorough squeezes. “I’m certain you’ll find some way to turn things around though, won’t you?”

The glass in Goku’s hand dropped, shattering into another glass on the table on impact.

Frieza let go, uttering out a noise of horror and disgust.

Goku ran.

He didn’t care. This wasn’t worth it. He ran to the back, shouldering past another server as he went. The door to the back hallway slammed open, his whole body shaking, ears ringing in the sudden silence. He slid down the wall, sinking to the tiled floor, bringing his head to rest against his knees as he tried to center himself, tried to process what had just happened.

He couldn’t believe it. He’d never been manhandled like that in his life. Sure, guests had insulted him from time to time, but that just comes with the territory when liquor was involved. Besides, there was always the bar counter between him and his more provocative guests.

Frieza had alarmingly sober, and viciously entitled. There was no excuse to be made for the man's vile touch.

He couldn’t go back out there.

\-----

Vegeta cocked his head in mild interest as he saw Goku run out back, but the kitchen called his attention. A never-ending beast.

“Runner.”

“Here, Chef.” Yamcha replied from the entry, looking visibly upset. He breezed in, ready to run the order at hand, despite the turmoil on his face.

“Not that I particularly care, but what’s going on?” Vegeta ventured, tweaking the garnish on the dish in his hand.

“A disaster at Frieza’s table. Goku ran off, I think I saw him crying. Not too sure on the details, Chef.”

Vegeta nodded tightly before expediting the current ticket. A few minutes later, and he’d cleared most of the tickets on the rail, including the first round of appetizer’s for Frieza’s table. The rush overcome, he popped behind the line, grabbing an extra dish of pasta that had been mistakenly been made, and walked away from the line without a word. The sous-chef exchanged a knowing glance with a few of the line cooks, and they adjusted accordingly to Vegeta’s absence.

Vegeta made his way out back, entering the tiny service entry hall way, finding Goku still curled up against the wall. His posture stiffened at the sound of another arrival.

Without preamble, Vegeta sat down next to him. He slapped the back of his hand lightly against Goku’s forearm, and the young man looked up. Eyes red and puffy, old tear streaks lining his face. Goku hiccupped softly, leaning up to glance almost quizzically at chef.

Vegeta popped the dish of pasta into Goku’s lap.

They sat in silence for a bit, Goku staring down at the dish, Vegeta sitting back with his head propped against the wall staring at the flickering, florescent lights.

“Eat. You’ll feel better.”

Goku simply nodded, taking a tentative bite. Vegeta narrowed his eyes. Goku was always sneaking back to the kitchen, trying to convince his cooks to slip him food. He’d seen the young man house through multiple helpings at staff meal more times than he cared to count. Hell, he often made double batches of staff meal in anticipation of Goku’s hearty appetite.

“He must have said something really nasty to you if you’ve lost your appetite.”

Goku stiffened, letting the fork clatter against the bowl, head bowed.

“…He put his hands down my pants.” Goku whispered. Had it not been for the oppressive silence of the hallway, Vegeta probably wouldn’t have heard him.

Vegeta saw red.

“I- I can’t go back out there. Please don’t make me go back out there, Vegeta.”

“Stay here, Carrot.” Vegeta placed a firm hand on Goku’s shoulder.

Oh, but he was fucking _pissed_.

Vegeta barreled his way back into the kitchen, positively fuming.

“Boys, how are we looking on tickets?” He boomed, grapping the line’s attention.

“Just one pick left, Chef, but it’s a quick one.” Piccolo confirmed, raising his brow in question.

“Leave it for now. Come with me, we’ve got some trash to take out.”

The line exchanged confused, excited glances, slowly piecing things together from the small gossip they’d heard from the wait staff. Chef’s ire filled in the blanks. A clatter of utensils, the shuffling eagerness for action, the boys all smirking with unmasked aggression and glee as they filed out from their stations.

“YES, CHEF!”

\-----

Frieza was in the middle of laying Bulma in lavender, or, at least, given the vacant expression that clouded Bulma’s eyes, he was _trying_ his best to. She maintained a posture of calm superiority, simply smiling at him as he complained about the state of the food in front of him.

“Well, what a delightful waste of time this has been.” Frieza spat out with unmasked aggression, bristling further as Vegeta approached the table.

“And why is that?” Vegeta retorted, putting himself bodily in front of Bulma. She jumped slightly in surprise at his arrival, but gratefully took a few steps back. She noticed the kitchen staff subtly fanning out in the wings, a dawning of realization coming over her.

“When you so rudely departed earlier, I had a feeling that things weren’t going to be up to the usual standard. Perhaps you don’t care for the company I keep? Or maybe something about _me_ harried your departure?” Frieza accused,

Vegeta said nothing. He simply fixed the other man with a blank, bland stare.

“On top of your food lacking its usual finesse, which, I must say, I could tell by merely _glancing_ at it, there were a myriad of embarrassments this evening. The wine’s temperature was unacceptable. Those garish cocktails brought to us were a sad excuse for an apology. Not to mention breaking a _glass_ on my table? Unacceptable! The server, what was his name? The simple looking one?” Frieza went off, gesticulating wildly as he spoke, beyond _offended_ by the experience.

“Goku.” The long haired man to his right offered.

“Yes, ugh, Goku! He was very quick to say no to me for things that I’d quite easily received in the past. He’s horrible. Hiring just on appearances, these days? A cute trick for any lowbrow establishment, but I expect something better than a common whore to wait on me. I’m very, very disappointed, Vegeta.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Vegeta smirked, crossing his arms in order to keep himself from simply throttling the man. He was shaking, practically ready to explode, but he wanted to make _damn_ sure that Frieza incriminated himself fully. Neighboring patrons had stopped to stare, servers frozen in their tracks.

“As am I! Especially since I’ve been so very _generous_ with you in the past. What do you intend to do to make it up to me, hmm?” Frieza leaned back, haughty and self-important, waiting for his recompense for such an _awful_ evening.

“Not much of anything, really.” Vegeta shrugged before casually slapping a full glass of red wine over onto Frieza’s lap. Frieza cried out in shock, only to have Vegeta slide full dishes onto the tyrant’s lap, ceramic clattering aggressively to the floor. “Oh you seem to be finished, I’ll have your check brought over right away.”

“How DARE you?” Frieza screeched, jumping to his feet. His companions were quick to join him, flanking either side.

“Oh cut the bullshit, Frieza. You came in unannounced and looking for a fight because I couldn’t drop everything mid-service to bend over and lick your puckered little asshole the whole night. You don’t keep this business running; my staff does. I’m not going to stand here and listen to you shit all over someone as hard working as Son Goku, who, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is one of the driving forces of this restaurant. If you think you can demean and manhandle him however you please, you’ve got another thing coming, you steaming pile of shit. So just get the fuck out of here already. Meal’s on the house, since it was just so _awful_.” Vegeta spoke succinctly, relishing in every single syllable that left his mouth. He’d been waiting a long time to tell Frieza off. The fact that he was able to do it so publicly made it all the more satisfying.

“You can’t do this to me!” Frieza huffed, bristling as he noticed the sudden proximity of a handful of very large, well built members of the kitchen staff crowding in behind Vegeta.

“But I already have!” Vegeta proclaimed, pointing towards the door. “You can walk yourself out, or we can drag you. Your choice.”

“You’ll come to regret this.” Frieza growled, but taking a step back nonetheless.

“No, I don’t think I will. Take a look around. You don’t have a leg to stand on.” Vegeta chuckled darkly. A myriad of patrons glared at Frieza in disgust, having seen and overheard quite enough from the spoiled man the evening. The rest of the staff joined the cooks in forming a formidable group, all quite eager to show Frieza the door.

“Out.”

\-----

“C’mon, Kakarot. One more shot.” Vegeta implored, tapping two fingers on the bar top. The lights were up, the patrons gone, the remaining staff finishing up some last minute cleaning.

Vegeta sat alone at the end of the bar, drinking his fill as he waited for Goku to finish.

“Kakarot? Ah, Chef, you’re slurring.” Goku smiled, taking the empty glass away from the man. He popped it into the dishwasher rack, running the final cycle.

“No. That’s your name. Because of the carrots from earlier, get it?” Vegeta smirked at his own cleverness, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Okay, okay. I think you’re good, Chef.” Goku shook his head, a bemused expression on his face.

“Come here. There’s no work left to do.”

Goku laughed at how forthcoming Vegeta was being. He preferred how relaxed he could be after a shift. It was refreshing, knowing that “Chef” was only one facet of his personality, a façade to keep the restaurant running like clockwork. Goku eased out from behind the bar, removing his apron and dress shirt, sidling up next to Vegeta. The two of them stared at each other in silence for a while as Goku polished off a beer that he’d set out for himself.

“Y’know, it was really nice, what you did for me earlier.” Goku mentioned sheepishly, leaning with his back against the bar, staring up at the ceiling with the near empty bottle of beer poised near his lips.

“I put you into that situation. I had to take responsibility. It was a long time coming.” Vegeta growled, tensing at the vague mention of the Frieza incident.

Goku said nothing. He didn't blame Vegeta for the situation at all. But he was clearly taking it hard.

“Don’t ever let anyone talk to you the way he did. Or fucking touch you. If that ever happens again, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

“…he’s lucky we were in the restaurant. I would have fucking killed him otherwise.” Vegeta stood, pushing in the barstool with perhaps a bit too much force before pulling on is jacket.

Goku’s breath hitched. He felt warm all over, and it wasn’t just because of the alcohol. Vegeta was staring so intently at him, a fire raging behind his eyes, but it wasn’t anger. Goku believed him. Vegeta actually would have killed Frieza over this. Over insulting him, over touching him _._ Goku shivered, biting his lower lip.

_Holy shit, does he actually like me?_

“Come on. I’m walking you home.” A gentle tap on the arm shook Goku from his thoughts.

“Oh? And who’s gonna walk your drunk ass home afterwards?” Goku teased, tossing the empty bottle out before gathering up his backpack and tucking his uniform inside.

“Not drunk. Besides, even if I am, I’d be fine.”

The two of them headed out, waving goodbye to a few other straggling employees. Bulma raised a brow at watching them leave together, but filed it away for later. It would be fun to tease them about it another time.

“Wait a minute, you waited at the bar to walk me home?” Goku suddenly asked, the realization dawning on him as they walked, shoulder to shoulder, the crisp night air washing over them.

“No, I drank at the bar and happened to be done drinking at the same time.” Vegeta offered, running a hand through his hair in apparent nonchalance.

“Because you drank literally until last call.” Goku sniped, bumping his shoulder into Vegeta’s, drawing grunt from the smaller man.

“I don’t like the idea of you walking alone after what happened tonight, okay?” Vegeta snapped, looking around as though someone might jump them at any minute.

Goku stopped in his tracks.

“That’s sweet of you, Vegeta. Thanks.” He was genuinely touched by the gesture. The fact that Vegeta was so upset by the situation, the fact that he’d taken it so personally and seriously... it made it easier for Goku to accept what happened and move forward.

He felt protected.

Without thinking too hard about it, Goku move towards Vegeta, his hand landing on his bicep, turning the smaller man to face him. He leaned in, kissing Vegeta’s cheek in gratitude. Vegeta’s eyes blew out wide, face flushing bright red as his hand absently reached up to touch where he’d been kissed.

“You missed.” Vegeta stated blandly.

Goku laughed, bright and full of starlight, before leaning in again to rectify his mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> :) *finger guns* I could write about this kind of AU forever, to be honest.


End file.
